


Conference Calls

by Vathara



Series: Urban Legends [44]
Category: Airwolf, Godzilla: The Series
Genre: Crossover, Don't copy to another site, Genetically Engineered Beings, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Sneaking Around, Star Wars References, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vathara/pseuds/Vathara
Summary: It was a quiet scientific conference... until HEAT got involved.





	Conference Calls

"I despise air ducts."

Sweat darkened the red bandanna holding back Marella Duval's dark curls, made her hollow ring twist loose on her finger. The muzzle of her .22 jabbed into her ribs despite her bulletproof vest, but the Firm operative only watched scuffed white shoes and smiled. "Yes, sir."

"They are," Michael Archangel announced in a low whisper to the stray spiders sharing their airspace, "Entirely too cliché."

"Yes, sir." Marella pushed her superior's cane ahead with boot and hand, watched rosewood vanish into the dark as Michael shoved it farther along. The cane was a bear to deal with in such tight quarters, but they both knew he'd need it the moment they got out of here. _He can't take a painkiller for his leg_ , Marella calculated. _Not when we don't know how long we'll be running._ The Firm-issued drug only lasted a few hours, and then… well. Nausea, muscle spasms, and angry people with guns made a bad combination.

"Foreign operatives turning the source of life, the very air you breathe, into the channel for your destruction. Freud or Jung, the psychological connotations are damning…." Michael sighed. "And second only to air ducts, I despise babbling."

_Darn. He was on a roll._ "I know you hate tight spaces, sir. I won't tell if you don't."

White-edged soles paused. "Claustrophobia is not in my file."

"I didn't say it should be." Marella rolled dark eyes. "You're a pilot. You like the sky; you wouldn't have set up all the extra security necessary to keep your window otherwise." _Not to mention, you've been tortured in more close quarters than I like to think about._ "And Airwolf doesn't like anywhere she can't fit her rotors into."

A resigned breath rolled down the shaft. "I take it you've discussed this with the others."

"I have." _And I know_ doesn't like _is like saying China's not very friendly to operatives_ , Marella thought bluntly. Airwolf could hover into places most helicopters couldn't; the stone chimney of her original Lair in the Valley of the Gods was a tight fit for a JetRanger, much less the stealth helicopter's sweeping blades.

But anything less than fifty-five feet of clear space made Airwolf - and thus, her pilots - decidedly twitchy.

_Especially when they know they might get shot at_ , Marella admitted. _Or in this case, nibbled to death._

"Goldfish?" Archangel demanded.

"Mutated carp. I think." From her quick glimpse of gold and red scales in the dim stairwell; hotel managers didn't waste money lighting this place at three in the morning. "Our contact said they got the original breeding pair from a South African sugarcane drainage ditch." Robin, the Firm's agent-in-place in S.C.A.L.E., hadn't been too forthcoming on how her merry band of eco-terrorists had smuggled the mutated fish out of that country to Acapulco. _Not that there's much point in asking,_ Marella thought wryly. _When it comes to unconventional weapons, that country's a sieve. It's harder to smuggle out gold._

Which the Firm had done, more than once. A tenth of the mines' production went missing yearly anyway. They'd be fools not to turn some of that to America's advantage.

"Rules out toxins as a means of dealing with the situation," Archangel said thoughtfully. "Anything that can survive in that hellhole would likely consider the Hudson River no more than a refreshing draught."

"I'd say so." Good, her boss was finding his mental feet. Not that anything threw Archangel off for long. But having her show up at his hotel room door, still dressed in the "urban warfare" style of a S.C.A.L.E. sympathizer rather than the white silk dress or flight suit she usually favored, with a pack of snaggle-toothed, retriever-sized, air-breathing mutated carp bounding almost on her heels….

Well, even Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III, Firm's Deputy Director of Special Projects, had needed a second to blink.

* * *

  
_Slam!_

_Squish._

_Thud. Thud, thud, thud…._

Wrist stinging from Michael's swift yank, Marella eyed the inside of the quivering door. "That won't hold them long."

A thousand questions sprang to life in Michael's visible blue eye; she saw Archangel shake them away. "Target?"

"You."

She could all but hear him file that mentally, even as he headed for the night-dark window. "How many of these creatures are there?"

"And the rest of the hotel," Marella added belatedly, as scales flashed in the courtyard below. "There was a construction accident in San Marcos… the organizers had to move the conference." Archangel probably hadn't been here when that report came in, she realized; out on a long night of making contact with various arms dealers here in Acapulco to mix business with pleasure.

For Archangel, it was all business. Risky, deadly business; his status in certain circles as a dealer in classified weaponry would be all some idiots in Congress needed to lock him away from the sky for good.

The same idiots who would never realize that Archangel's shadowy deals allowed him to keep tabs on where most illicit arms - not just his own - went. Thus giving Special Forces a vital leg up when it came to knowing what they were up against… and how to blow it up first.

"They moved the North American Mutation Conference?" Behind his glasses, Archangel paled. "Here?"

_Thump! Cra-ack!_

Paint and wood split, a hairsbreadth from giving way.

Despite their predicament, Marella grinned. _I've always wanted to say this._ "Into the air duct, flyboy!"

He'd get her for that. Later.

* * *

  
"So this cell of S.C.A.L.E. is cooperating with Deutsch to eliminate me, in return for a discount on certain items in his inventory," Archangel murmured now, inching ahead. "I suppose he has hard feelings about being undercut on that Sidewinder deal with the Ulster Brigade."

"Nothing personal, sir. Just business." Marella peered into the gloom, wishing for her boss' night vision. Pity she hadn't had time to grab IR goggles as well as a weapon. "This means they're getting serious."

"Hmm. I'd already thought they were more than serious enough… but yes. Deutsch is not the sort you approach for mere high explosives and banned assault rifles."

_Terrific_ , Marella thought. As if S.C.A.L.E. hadn't caused enough damage the last time they'd attacked Monster Island. "I thought any building used for the conference was supposed to be secured."

A growl filtered back. "Secure by Mexico's definition, not mine."

Right. While this hotel might now be stuffed with snoring, well-meaning scientific types trying to hammer out means of detecting and neutralizing mutations, half a dozen other hotels, motels, and bed-and-breakfasts in town could boast a military acquisitions officer from any of a score of nations. Not to mention the arms dealers.

_Welcome to Acapulco_ , Marella thought wryly. "Are we going somewhere in particular?"

"Presuming the hotel blueprint is accurate… we take a left over a janitor's closet, then there's a clear run to the roof."

Good. A place to get out and regroup, and plot how to get Archangel out of here. With a ticked-off Deutsch in the equation, Acapulco was too hot. Marella could run the mission from this point.

White shoes paused. "Damn."

She felt a faint vibration in the metal around her, put it together with a glimmer of movement; Michael was pressing his hand flat against the duct. "What's happening?"

"Gunshots… a scream." She heard the tight concentration in his voice; while Stringfellow Hawke might listen to half a building without straining, Michael still needed to work to sort his hearing. "I believe Deutsch may have lent our eco-terrorists one or two of his more disposable minions to harass the conference attendees."

Marella blinked. Tamped down the spurt of adrenaline. Of course Deustch wouldn't trust S.C.A.L.E. to grab Archangel on its own. Attempted sabotage of various Army bases was one thing. Taking out a highly trained, eminently ruthless survivor of far too many undercover missions to count, quite another.

For a moment she almost felt sorry for the hapless scientists now being yanked from their beds. Those working in mutation countermeasures were often the oddballs of the scientific world; cross-field generalists who didn't fit into the expected mold of a Ph.D. and therefore wouldn't be missed. Until their governments ran into real problems.

Pity faded, replaced by an operative's cool calculation. Deutsch might well have seen an opportunity to profit by more than just eliminating some competition. That very eccentricity could make mutation specialists the cutting edge of their nation, valuable to anyone unscrupulous and determined enough to drain them dry.

_You called the cops. You alerted the Firm. You got Archangel clear. Nothing else you can do about it. Yet._ "Do you think he knows who's here?"

"I sincerely hope not." Archangel resumed his crawl. "Deutsch never did believe someone might be too dangerous to threaten."

* * *

  
"Let me out! Let me out!" Pale and sweating, Dr. Mendel Craven pounded on the inside of the janitor's closet door, rattling the lock.

"Mendel!" Dr. Nick Tatopoulos gripped the roboticist's wrist before he could bruise himself. Silently he thanked fate he'd always insisted his team keep their ties to their families. Kate Chapman's baby shower had Elsie and Randy safely tied down in New York; Elsie for her sister, Randy because _Dr._ Chapman, for all her cool under threat of being devoured by the latest mutation on the block, was absolutely terrified at the prospect of becoming an aunt. "Mendel, wake up! It's us!"

"Nick?" White lab-coat bunched over his yellow shirt, the blond blinked away the last shreds of sleep. Even after more than a year of fieldwork, Mendel did not do three AM well. "Fish - guns - _teeth_ -"

"And the fish and the guns are out there somewhere, and we have to keep our heads. And keep quiet. _Now._ "

Dark as it was, Nick caught Mendel's flinch; winced. _And I don't do three AM much better_. He softened his voice. "Are you all right?"

"It's dark in here." But the roboticist's words were steadier, calmer. For all Craven's claims of being a hapless lab scientist dragged into the field, Mendel did pretty well under fire. As long as he was awake.

"Did you try the light switch?" _Calm_ , Nick tried to project to the man shivering in his grasp. _Calm._

"It doesn't work!" _Fear_ filtered back, _fear_ and _pain-memory_ and _not-again_. Mendel hated the dark, and hated teeth, and absolutely, utterly hated guns. "The bulb is out, or the circuit, I don't know - and it's dark, Nick. Even in the sub, it's not _dark_."

"I know." _And I hate guns too… calm. Stay calm._

Something roused in the back of Nick's mind, deliberate and deadly as a tsunami wave. _Threat to parent?_

No point in denying that. He was afraid, and that fear drew Godzilla like a hatchling's chirp drew an alligator mother's angry defense. _I'm all right for now. Just scared._

"It is S.C.A.L.E."

Nick turned toward a darker shadow in the closet, lifted a brow. "You're sure."

_"Oui."_ Something snapped, low and quiet. An amber light grew, glinting off Monique Dupre's black leather jacket as she held a glow-stick up near the ceiling.

Some of the tension eased out of Mendel's arm; Nick relaxed his grip. "How long have you known?" the biologist asked.

"Not long enough," the French operative said flatly. "It was known they were within the city. But as you were not to be close by, the information was not passed on." Something dark and cold moved in her features. "Be cautious."

"Hello? Guns?" Mendel waved a hand sarcastically. "No kidding."

"Bullets can only kill. S.C.A.L.E. wishes mutations to prosper, and you have shown that you know such creatures well." Monique's gaze was opaque. "Some of them believe you can be turned."

Nick swallowed dryly.

"I will not permit it."

"Thanks."

Monique arched a dark brow.

"I mean it." _And I know exactly what you mean by "won't permit",_ Nick thought grimly. _Better a bullet than brainwashing._

"It is unlikely their methods would be effective," the French operative shrugged. "Such procedures rely on removing the subject from external sources of support. You would be… very difficult to isolate."

As in, they hadn't yet found anything that could block Godzilla if the giant mutation wanted to get through. _Never thought that would be an advantage_. Nick stifled a shiver, feeling the echo of seawater over scales. _Be careful._

_Amusement_ filtered back, two hundred feet of muscle and bone coiling in dark water. Men with guns and dog-sized walking fish? What was there to be worried about?

_Monique says they might have more than those guns_.

_Dangerous-dark-female._ A shivery image of Monique accompanied the lizard's thought, mixed with sudden interest. Godzilla had been inside his mind during more than one of Monique's threat assessments. The giant mutation respected the French operative's calculations of what was and wasn't dangerous.

At least, when it came to humans.

"Nick?"

The biologist blinked at Mendel, gave the roboticist a reassuring smile. "Just trying to cut down the property damage." He glanced toward the amber light, drawn by a sudden, subtle sparkle. "So how do we get out of here?"

Monique frowned, studying the ceiling. "The blueprints indicated a shaft…."

More sparkles. Dust, Nick noted absently. Drifting in the glow.

_Creak_ ….

"Move, move, move!"

Nick yanked Mendel back, covered his head as plaster covering the air duct overhead suddenly gave way. Cheap metal groaned, twisted, tilted-

Stopped, sagging out of the ceiling.

From the depths of bent metal, a man swore in German.

"It could be worse, sir." A woman's voice, Nick realized. Vaguely familiar.

"Enlighten me. _How?_ "

"Dominic could be watching."

* * *

  
A rich Italian chortle rang through the helmet radios. "String, you _gotta_ see this."

Stringfellow Hawke glanced at Airwolf's IR view of the hotel air ducts, stifled an involuntary sigh of relief. Michael's presence in the back of his mind had been a wave of fight-or-flight, irritation, shock, _falling-_

But he was okay. If embarrassed as hell.

"Dom!" Caitlin O'Shannessy scolded from the copilot's seat. "Tell me you're not recording?"

"Oh, you better believe I'm saving this, Red." Dominic Santini hummed a merry tune under his breath, making sure the IR view got shunted into memory storage.

_Michael Archangel not currently at hazard_ , Airwolf noted, relieved.  
_Hostile forces remain within pilot locale._  
_Local emergency network in operation_.  
_Mexican police ETA ten minutes_.  
_Evac requested?_

Irritation reached back. _"Tell your crew to keep their minds on their job, String. I told you, I want that weapons cache under surveillance!"_

"You are our job, Michael," String said evenly. Steel seemed to close around him; he heard the echoes of breaths off metal, felt the gnawing ache of a leg that hated crawling. "You need a dust-off?"

_"No."_ Cold. Controlled. _"Get back on station. I refuse to lose an experimental XM-177 howitzer because of a minor operational hitch."_

"Stuck in the middle of an air duct with man-eating goldfish outside, an' he calls it a hitch," Caitlin snorted as they whispered into the night. Hazel eyes cast a wry glance String's way. "What's he call a real problem?"

"Prying String out of that pile of sticks on Eagle Lake." Dom took out a CD, stored it in an overhead compartment with a wicked grin.

"Classified," String pointed out.

"So? Half the stuff you got in that cabin's 'Eyes Only' junk. He'll never find it."

"Don't count on it."

* * *

  
" _This_ is our way out?" Mendel hissed.

Watching metal turn cherry-red as Monique showed Mendel where to laser through the last side of a square, Nick had to sympathize with the reluctant roboticist. Climbing down cliffs was one thing. Squeezing into a tight metal box, easy target for any idiot with a gun, was definitely not high on his list of things to do.

"They're three doors away as we speak, Dr. Craven. And searching quite thoroughly." The unseen man's voice floated down to the hole, barely above a whisper. He and his companion had moved up the shaft before Monique started cutting, positioning themselves in a stable spot where the duct pierced a wall. "Given that you've already slipped their net once, I'd be hesitant to count on their good will when they find you."

"You know who we are." Nick kept his whisper level.

The woman chuckled. "I think introductions can wait."

A familiar voice, Nick realized, of a woman who was not at all surprised by H.E.A.T.'s toys. "Dr. Marella Duval, I presume."

"Guilty as charged, Dr. Tatopoulos." Marella sounded entirely too cheerful about it. "I take it you know that is S.C.A.L.E. in the building?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Nick shook his head, trying to shake away a sudden sense of… tickling? _Like feathers_ , the biologist thought. _Fur. Falling snow, on a still day._

Close. He could feel it. But when he tried to narrow his focus and find it, it - skittered away. Lost itself, in the glint of sun on snowflakes.

_Where is it? What is it?_

Cloth padding her hand, Monique lowered the cut square to the floor. "Inside. _Vite!_ "

Cobwebs and dust brushed by Nick's nose, steel thick and clammy with a scent of roaches. _Don't think about it_ , the biologist told himself through the long minutes as they squirmed and climbed. _Just think about up, and out_ ….

His head hit Marella's boot; behind him, Mendel impacted his legs with an "Oof!"

Nick winced, resisted the urge to rub his head. Braced as they were in the now-vertical shaft, taking an arm off the wall that long might have painful results. "Problem?"

The man's grumble filtered down. "Someone appears to have bolted the shaft cover rather securely onto the roof. Only to be expected, I suppose; the less moral element would make off with it in a heartbeat if it were clinched any less tight than Fort Knox… give me a moment, I'll have it clear."

_Clear - no!_ "No explosions!"

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"One of the main predators on the carp species are gar. Air-breathing fish. Goldfish have ears so they can hear gar breathe," the biologist said in a rush. "They'll hear a blast."

A moment's silence. "Well warned." A warmth had crept into the man's voice; as if some unspoken question had been answered. "Dr. Craven, might I borrow your laser?"

"I, am a robotic specialist. _Not_ a Flying Wallenda." Grunts, soft swears echoed up, followed by the metal-and-plastic of a familiar handle. "Don't think… I can hold this…."

Nick snatched, heard Mendel's relieved sigh as the weight yanked on his arm instead. "Dr. Duval?"

"Marella's fine." Cloth rubbed on metal; he felt her body warmth as the operative shifted around the shaft to put herself near right angles to him. "Can you get it an inch higher?"

Nick focused on enclosing metal walls, shoved his body upward. "Lifting… now."

Weight swayed in dark air; lightened suddenly, drawn by a determined pull. "Got it." Metal creaked quietly, shifting in the wake of that retreating warmth. "Here." Her voice was fainter, nearer the top of the shaft. "Let me brace you."

"Marella-"

"I do not want you falling on top of me. Sir."

_Falling?_ Nick swallowed dryly. _He doesn't sound like he's tired._ "Are you hurt?"

"No." But there was steel in that voice, like a vice-grip on pain.

"An old injury," Monique's murmur floated up. _"Rapidement, s'il vous plait."_

_"Mais oui, Mademoiselle."_ Red glowed overhead, heating the shaft.

Nick stifled a sneeze as flying dust turned thick and hot, held his breath as burning metal thickened the air. _One second more, and one more, and one more_ ….

A gust of clear air, swooping down in a rush of frying corn tortillas, cayenne, and sea wind. Metal _skreek_ ed aside, pushed off by hasty hands to let in a glow of stars and city light.

_And they're out_ , Nick thought, scrambling up toward that sigh of relief. _And we're out._

Almost, anyway. His arms were trembling, despite all the experience he'd had climbing. Just a few more inches….

"Local law enforcement should be arriving momentarily." Strong fingers locked on his wrist. "In the meantime, allow me to assist-"

Connection. Familiarity. A shock of fur and scales, wind and wave….

_"Easy, little fella. Let's not be too hasty here…."A survivor. One hatchling survived, after all I did… A pink slurp of tongue, fear and newness and the blinding white spray of sparks-_

_Storm-blue eyes, the tarry scent of airport tarmac in California sun… I will not, cannot let this man perish. Not when all I need to do is reach out_ -

_"What just happened?" Good question, Elsie. You would have called Hicks. You_ should _have called Hicks. But… he recognized me. Knew me. Trusted me. And I can't walk away-_

_"Mind the store!" I'm going to fly her. Copilot, engineer - Moffet be damned, I'm going to fly her. Sonora, here we come-_

_Get away._ Move! _But drugs bound them to mosquito-whine and pain, as the drill bit into Godzilla's brain, his brain-_

_Fire; burning, deadly fire… yet within the agony, one cool rivulet of sanity. A hidden, hurting place that echoed of wind, and darkness, and starlight_...

_Not human, never human… get away! Leave me alone! But there was no_ alone _anymore, no means of severing the link between himself and the massive creature that looked upon him as parent and protector and protected. No way to escape the territorial rage he'd fought - then endured - then accepted, as one more tool to survive…._

_Knives and heartbreak and the soul-shaking surety that all his oaths were broken, utterly. He could never be a lone wolf again, and every decision he made, every mission he authorized and carried out, would forever be tainted by that truth. A black whirlwind and the storm-eyed pilot who rode it had nested in his soul, never to leave…._

And Nick was out and on the roof, rolling clear as a stranger in dusty white pushed himself away.

No. Not a stranger. Even though he'd never seen the man before in his life. "Archangel," Nick rasped.

Pulling himself over the shaft edge, Mendel gave the blond a startled glance, taking in the cobweb-smeared fine suit, the silver-headed cane, the leather blacking out one side of the man's aviator frames. "You know this guy?"

Nick shivered, trying to shake off that sense of sharing another skin. Bad enough when that skin had scales. Another human, one who'd long since abandoned tidy categories of right and wrong for _mission_ and _expedience_ and _threat to my people_ \- god. "Not exactly."

_Mam'selle Duval's superior in the Firm_ , Monique had told him. _An empath._

_He is not a_ safe _person to know_ ….

Shock, swelling in his emotions. Startled curiosity. _Nick?_

The biologist slowed his breathing, sorting Archangel's weird, snow-touched static from the edge of his contact with Godzilla. _I'm okay. I think. What happened?_

_Strange touch._ Nick felt water break over a scaled head, a puff of breath as clawed feet found land. Nick could say he was safe all he liked; this was unnerving enough that the mutation wanted a first-hand look. No matter how much it panicked Acapulco. _Storm. Wind-longing. Touches_ inside _a touch._

Nick heard the first car alarms go off, sighed. So much for keeping a low profile. _Did he-?_

_Concern for parent_ reached back; but there was no rage, no feel of territory threatened. _Touched_ , came the low rumble in his mind. _Just touched. Didn't hurt. Didn't try to_ take.

"My apologies, Dr. Tatopoulos." Michael Archangel tried to rise; sank back, one hand clutching the left side of his face. "I fear I didn't expect… that."

A dark woman in urban commando gear stepped gracefully to his side, gaze flicking about for potential threats. _Marella_ , Nick knew, with a familiarity that unsettled him. As if he'd let his eyes rest on those tight dark curls as often as Monique's straight fall of midnight hair, relied on those café-au-lait hands to pull him out of the abyss….

The operative eyed both scientists, knelt by her boss. "Sir?"

"Some sort of feedback loop. I think." Michael's voice was tight, controlled. "We have to get moving."

"Why-" Marella caught a glimpse of moving darkness. Sucked in a breath.

"Oh, I never get used to this," Mendel whispered.

Yard-long teeth snapped down on golden scales, rousing screams from the courtyard below. A massive tail slashed, slamming leggy fish into and through brick walls.

"Rope?" Michael inquired, cool and disinterested as if he were asking Marella to pass the salt.

Wordlessly, Marella took out a slim coil of line, sank the teeth of its collapsible grapnel into the roof.

"We'd be better off staying here," Nick said frankly. "Right now, he knows where we are."

Archangel gripped his operative's arm as the building shook, huddling with her to keep his balance on the quivering roof. "You'll forgive me if I don't find that reassuring."

* * *

  
_Pilot hazard!_

"Yeah."

_Direct threat!_

"Yeah."

_Evac now!_

"No."

Caitlin eyed String, resisted the urge to pound sense into his thick head. Part of that screaming desire to fly back and pull Michael clear was the Lady. Part was that… _weirdness_ that had just fuzzed through her brain. The rest was just plain-old human panic at the fact that there was a two-hundred-foot, fire-breathing lizard in the neighborhood.

But this was no time for panic. Archangel was the operative on the ground, and Archangel said stay on the prototype. He didn't need a dust-off. He could take care of himself.

Most of the time.

Sweat trickled through red bangs, made its way down the back of Caitlin's neck. She'd read Firm reports on what the original Godzilla had done to a handful of Apaches in New York. She had no desire to check the info firsthand.

_Not an Apache_ , Airwolf pointed out, huddled against the warmth of her pilots' minds. _Faster. More agile. Better armor._

String raised a dark brow. "You want to try armor plating against atomic breath, Angel?"

_Not funny!_

"Damn right it ain't!" Dominic growled, checking hydraulics as they approached their station near Deutsch's country residence. " _Santa Maria!_ What was that - that _fuzz_ , Angel? Felt like the mother of all radar jammers!"

_File search indicates "fuzz" in links likely psychic interference_.  
_Probable source: bonded empath in contact with Michael Archangel_.  
_Probable candidate: Dr. Niko "Nick" Tatopoulos_ -  
_Radar!_

Eyes on the sky, String was already yanking them sideways and down. Airwolf slid left, almost into the treetops, well clear of the CH-46 beating its way through Mexican night.

"That's it, String," Dom said, dark gaze serious now that the cargo helicopter was on hand. "Deustch is shipping that prototype out now, or I'm a monkey's uncle."

Caitlin nodded to herself, running the helicopter's specs through her head, comparing them to the howitzer prototype. Michael's files hadn't gone into specifics of its rounds and ranges; they didn't need to know more than it was powerful, accurate, and not something they wanted to get hit by. Instead, need-to-know had covered the key factor in its military appeal: weight.

A comparable regular howitzer weighed eight tons. The prototype used lightweight titanium to trim that down to 9,500 pounds. Well within the CH-46's weight range.

The helmet hid his frown, but she heard it in String's voice. "Michael said Deutsch wasn't done dealing yet."

"He just tried to terminate Archangel," Caitlin pointed out. Feeling her heart skip at the words; lord, how could Michael be so _calm_ about it? "You think he's gonna hang around for a few extra million?"

String gave her a slow nod. Didn't glance at Dom; after this long, the engineer knew what he would call for almost before he voiced the words. "Hellfire."

"You got it!"

Caitlin bared her teeth, checking ranges in her head. Most people thought of the Hellfire as a tank-buster. Airwolf's crew, like anyone else in covert ops, knew how flexible the missile could really be.

_Time to die, varmints._

* * *

  
"Fish, fish, car, fish…." Mendel ticked off numbly, crouched low to the roof.

"Hmm… I believe that was some of the upholstery."

Mendel eyed the guy in white, not trusting him as far as Monique could throw him. "Nick I'd believe that from. How would you know?"

Archangel looked suspiciously bland. "A fortunate guess?"

"A wonder he has survived this far, no?" Monique gave Marella an eloquent shrug, dragging the shaft cover back over their escape route.

"A marvel of the modern world," Marella agreed, pitching in to lift steel that last critical inch so there would be no betraying squeal. "I hear Phillipe's almost as bad."

"Phillipe is - quieter," the Frenchwoman said thoughtfully. "Though it is certain, he has inflicted more practical jokes upon the Ministry." A wry spark danced in dark eyes. "Yet it has been said that the head of Zebra Squad found himself in great difficulty on one occasion. One hears of a certain box of centipedes? And scorpions?"

"I was in Washington at the time," Archangel protested.

"You were," Marella agreed, dusting off her hands. "Hawke and Caitlin weren't."

A blond brow arched. "If you're suggesting they colluded to inconvenience the head of a legitimate division for attempting to carry out his sanctioned duties…."

" _Sanctioned_ was almost exactly what happened, sir," Marella said darkly. "And no one will ever prove anything-"

Fire bloomed in the night.

Mendel held onto the roof for dear life as air battered them. His eyes were scrunched shut; he could barely make out Nick's brown sleeve against Monique's dark leather, pale hand clinging to hers, fighting for sanity as Godzilla hissed at _noise_ and _light_.

Waves of vibration eased, enough for Mendel to hear Marella's shouted, "Sorry about that!"

With an effort, Nick lowered lips over bared teeth. "What's going on?!" the biologist growled.

"Arms deal," Archangel shrugged.

_Boom!_

"Not anymore," Marella observed, with a roll of dark eyes. "Did you say 'pieces' again, sir?"

"I believe I may have committed that particular verbal indiscretion…."

_Boom! Boom - cra-a-ack-BOOM!_

"Mexico," Monique noted dryly, "Will not be amused."

Archangel cocked his head eastward, squinted against a sudden breeze. "Quite likely."

A distinctive _thump-thump_ echoed through the wind; light burst on them, burning down from a helicopter marked in the shades of the local police. _Huey. They're not fooling around_ , Mendel thought, shading his eyes as a Spanish voice bravely ignored Godzilla, ordering everyone to put their hands up. _Like to see how you explain this, Archangel. Or whoever you are-_

They were gone.

* * *

  
_The problem with being the good guys_ , Nick thought, leaning against the police riot van by Mendel, _is the paperwork_.

Dazed scientists and hotel staff were scattered around the half-built barricade; some blinking at the lights, others huddled in blanket-wrapped balls. A few remonstrated with the reporters on the scene in everything from enthusiastic, impenetrable Spanish to near-perfect American English, giving half a dozen disjointed versions of exactly what had happened in the small hours of this all-too-eventful morning. Others were on cell phones to various airports, trying to book the next flight out. _Any_ next flight out.

"Amazing." Mendel shook his head, adjusting some of Nigel's spare chemosensors to track the mutated carps' biochemical signature; all he'd had time to grab, the local equivalent of SWAT hadn't let them linger in their hotel room long enough to get the robot itself going. The robotic specialist's hands shook, but never faltered. A simple case of adrenaline was nothing compared to trying to rewire circuits in the middle of a mutation battle. "Just a few guys with guns, and everyone goes nuts." He paused. "I can't believe I just said that…."

" _Ay! Mi casa_ … my beautiful hotel!" The owner shook a swarthy fist almost in the local cops' faces. "Who will be paying for this?"

"Not me, thanks be to God." Armed and armored in black, _Capitán_ Roja rounded the corner of the van; gestured to the two scientists. "Be at ease, Doctor-" He eyed Nick, evidently thought better of trying to pronounce the biologist's name. "Doctors. We have seized the troublemakers, and they shall soon face justice."

_The slow ones, maybe,_ Nick thought dryly. S.C.A.L.E. worked in cells. Even if Roja's men had caught this group, there were half a dozen others out there, ready and willing to strike their own blows for the end of humanity. _And next time, they'll be out to do a lot more than just scare a bunch of scientists._

_If_ that was all they'd been up to here. Frankly, he doubted it. Not if someone like Archangel had gotten caught in the middle of things. _Maybe Monique knows what's going on-_

Roja cleared his throat. "We are still searching the hotel, but we have found the terrorist device and destroyed it."

"Terrorist device, Capitán?" Nick asked, wanting nothing more than to find a quiet spot and crawl into his sleeping bag. The first light of dawn was trickling across the hotel wreckage, the last of the bitter taste had finally faded from his mouth, and he was just… tired.

Godzilla still felt annoyed and sluggish, moving away from the roar of fighters circling over Acapulco, out into deeper water to chase a school of anchovies. Eagerness filtered through the bond; the massive mutation was looking forward to tasting fish oil instead of carp-slime.

Nick hid a smile. _Have fun, big guy. You earned it._

"Yes. An odd creation; yellow, on tracks. Obviously meant to carry in a bomb they did not have time to place." Roja looked fierce. "We have, of course, destroyed it."

"Nigel…." Mendel groaned.

Nick sighed.

"It is likely S.C.A.L.E. established a safe-house within the city," Monique stated, appearing out of the shadows. "A place to hold their creatures, before the attack. Traces should remain nearby."

_And where have you been?_ Nick wanted to ask. "Then let's get started. The last thing we need is a pair of walking carp loose in the ecosystem."

"Doctor-" Roja looked them over, crossed armored arms. "They are _fish._ They cannot have escaped."

"Air-breathing, walking fish," Nick said dryly, gathering his team. "You'd be amazed how far they can get."

"We do have one advantage," Nick noted as they started circling out from the hotel wreckage, looking for the freshest traces. _Roja's following us. Not good._ He'd wanted to ask Monique a score of questions; none of which he dared voice with Mexican authorities in hearing range. _Stick to the job, Nick._ "This is a harbor, and they're still freshwater. Air-breathers or not, there should be a limit to how much salt their systems can tolerate."

"Nick," Mendel pointed out in an undertone as they turned toward the waterfront, "I checked the weather reports. It rained pretty heavily a few days ago."

"If the creatures entered an estuary, they may be impossible to find," Monique added, scanning the road as they made their way through morning traffic.

Nick eyed them both, surprised.

The roboticist shrugged. "What? We listen."

"We'll make a field biologist out of you yet, Dr. Craven."

Mendel snorted. "About the same time you can put together the sub blindfolded." The blond glanced at Monique. "So where were you?"

"Arranging additional coverage," the French spy said evenly.

"The rest of your team?" Capitán Roja raised black brows. "I had thought they were still in New York."

"They are. These were-" Nick hesitated. _Uh-oh._

"American embassy personnel," Monique slipped in. "We do not wish to make much of it, but they believe in the true importance of Mexico in world affairs, and wished to see it reflected in this conference. But of course, they must be _seen_ as impartial… you understand."

"Ah; of course, of course." Roja smoothed his mustache, satisfied.

Mendel stared, wide-eyed. Switched an imploring brown gaze to Nick.

_Don't ask_ , the biologist mouthed.

"So? Have the terrible fish fled you?" Roja's brows waggled.

Mendel chewed his lip, studied his readings. "I don't think so. The chemical concentrations are all weaker on the perimeter. If I had Nigel's sensors-"

_"¡Muy bien!"_ Roja's hand gripped Nick's shoulder; the biologist stifled a flare of irritation. "Enjoy Acapulco, eh?"

"This isn't funny!" Mendel hissed as the _capitán_ stalked back to his men. "Just because I haven't found any trail of carp leaving the hotel, doesn't mean all of them were brought here in the first place!"

_"Oui,"_ Monique said levelly. "But those who remain would be with S.C.A.L.E. They are best sought by those with… other skills."

"Archangel?" Nick asked bluntly.

"His operatives, yes." Dark eyes were matter-of-fact. "You would hesitate. They will not."

True. Too true. He could defend himself against another human being; even attack, if it was the only way to protect himself and his team. But to decide, as he _knew_ Archangel could decide, that another intelligent being had to die….

"Nick?" Mendel, hand just touching his arm.

"I…" Nick glanced to make sure they were out of casual earshot, lowered his voice. "I _felt_ him. Just for a moment." Hands lifted, spread, trying to describe something that didn't fit into words. "Like trying to hold lightning."

"Stringfellow Hawke," Monique nodded. "A pilot for the Firm. The man Archangel bound, once the sensitivity created by Rush became too difficult to ignore."

"Someone actually named their kid that?" Mendel whistled, storing his sensors in his labcoat pockets. "And Randy says _my_ parents are twisted."

"Blue eyes, dark hair," Nick murmured. "I saw him." _Storm-blue, pain and honor and unyielding will… the dark whirlwind that was him, was them, was herself…._ "And I saw her."

_"Qu'est que ce?"_ Monique's face went dangerously still. "Her?"

"Wind and fire." Nick's fists clenched, trying to pin down fact from image and feeling. "Darkness and… storm. Being part of the storm. Feeling hail drum against your skin, knowing it can't hurt you; _wanting_ the sky-" He cut himself off, ran fingers through sweaty brown hair. Even the fading echo cut deep. "She has to have the sky, Monique. She has to have it, or they'll die." He sought her gaze, pleading for answers. "Who is she?"

For a moment, Nick thought the spy would keep this secret as well. "If it is Hawke that you sensed… she is Airwolf."

"Airwolf?" Mendel blurted. "There's a mutated wolf out there?"

"No." A wry smile brushed Monique's dark lips. "Though it is not unusual you have not heard of her. Airwolf is not a mutation."

_Another codename._ Nick wasn't exactly surprised. "He's not coming back, is he?"

"Mexico is no longer safe." Humor glinted in her gaze. "But Staten Island is not difficult to find."

**Author's Note:**

> S.C.A.L.E. - Servants of Creatures Arriving Late to Earth.
> 
> Translations from French:  
> "Oui." - Yes.  
> "Vite!"- Fast, hurry.  
> "Rapidement, s'il vous plait." - Quickly, if you please.  
> "Mais oui, Mademoiselle." - But yes, Miss.  
> "Qu'est que ce?" - What is this? (What's going on?)
> 
> From Spanish:  
> "Mi casa." - My house.  
> Capitán - Captain.  
> "¡Muy bien!" - Very good.


End file.
